You Are Pack
by 27WOTrace
Summary: There's a hunter in town that's after the wolves. Stiles wants to help and nearly gets shot for his efforts. Derek reacts poorly. (What's new?) Sterek


This is a piece that has been sitting in google docs for forever (seriously, I think this was the last thing I wrote before a massive, year-long writer's block.) It was based on a gif set that seems to no longer be in existence. Anyways, I did a quick edit on it and decided to post it. I should also mention that I have no idea where the hell this fits into any canon based timeline at all.

* * *

Derek's running through the forest, trying to get to Isaac before the hunter does. They don't know who he is; he's not part of the Argent family, but he's proven to be just as dangerous.

A gunshot goes off. A cry of pain follows, but it doesn't sound like Isaac. It sounds a lot like-

"Stiles!" Derek growls, picking up his pace. He's close, so damn close.

He bursts through the thick trees into a clearing. Stiles is pushing himself up from the ground, back onto his feet, while Isaac is on the other side of the clearing with the hunter pinned underneath him. The man's seen better days, but Derek has no intention of interfering.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snaps as he approaches Stiles. He can smell copper mixed with dirt, but Stiles doesn't smell like he's been shot. He likely tripped on something or panicked when the gun went off, or something equally stupid and human.

Stiles' turns his gaze up. His eyes are wide, but he blinks and rolls his eyes before saying, "Uh, saving your furry ass." Or Isaac's technically, but Stiles tends to ignore technicalities.

"By getting shot at?" Derek growls out.

"Turns out he's not that great of a shot."

Derek's face screws up in a way that Stiles doesn't know how to describe, much less react to. Fingers wrap around his wrist and yank it up before he can respond. Derek pushes Stiles' sleeve up his arm to reveal the gash on his forearm.

Stiles wants to pull his arm back, but he doesn't. There's a Monty Python one-liner on the tip of his tongue until he sees the look on Derek's face. It's a mixture of worry and something else that Stiles can't place. "It's nothing, Derek."

"What if this had been your throat? What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?"

Stiles gives a single shrug of his shoulders, "I was trying to help Isaac-"

The look full of concern shifts into anger again. "We don't need help."

"I just- I figured out who the hunter was, and I thought it could help, but-" Stiles tries again, needing Derek to understand that he hadn't just been rushing into things like an idiot. He had been trying to help.

"You don't get it, do you? We don't need your help. We can take care of ourselves. I had it covered," Derek says, stepping into Stiles' personal space. "You're not pack. We don't need you interfering."

Stiles swallows hard as he processes the words. "Yeah. Obviously," he manages before heading back in the direction he'd come from.

Derek is still tense and fuming even after Stiles is out of his line of vision. How could Stiles be so stupid? He could've been killed.

Isaac walks up behind him, pausing only to say, "You're wrong," before walking off in the direction Derek had come from.

Derek's shoulders slump when he hears those words. The anger drains from him; regret fills its place. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated when it came to Stiles?

After dropping Isaac off, Derek heads off to find Stiles. He needs to tell him that he hadn't meant the things he said. He had been dealing with the whirlwind of emotions that had followed the pure terror that ran through him after hearing the gunshot and Stiles' cry of pain.

Finding Stiles rarely takes much effort. Now he's back at his father's house, holed up in his bedroom. Derek tries the knob, twisting it every which way, but it doesn't give. "Let me in, Stiles."

Derek can hear the way Stiles' breath catches in his throat and his heart rate jumps, but Stiles doesn't acknowledge him beyond the automatic, surprised reaction.

"Stiles..." Derek takes a breath and starts over, this time talking in a softer tone. "Stiles, please open the door?"

Still nothing.

Derek weighs his options. He could just walk away, let Stiles have some time to himself, but he doubts it would actually fix the situation. He could break the door in, but, with Stiles behind it, Derek could hurt him. That's exactly the type of thing he would like to avoid. The window is always an option. It's usually his go-to, but he doubts Stiles would even look at him if he did that.

"I just want to talk, Stiles."

"I don't want to talk to you, Derek," Stiles says, bitterness seeping into his words. It's forced; Derek can hear the sadness behind it. "You already said what you had to say."

Derek swallows hard. That feels a bit like a blow to the gut. "Listen to me, Stiles. I'm sorry," He pauses for a moment, listening to Stiles' heart before continuing. "You were trying to help. I shouldn't have yelled or told you that you're not pack." He winces at his own words. "I just don't want you to think you have to put your life in danger to save my... our pack. Because you are pack. I had no place to tell you that you weren't." It's still quiet. No shuffling, no words. It's just quiet. "Will you please open the door?"

Stiles sighs and rests his head against the door, but he doesn't move like he's going to get up and let Derek in.

"I don't know what else to do," he admits. He really isn't any good at this. Any of it. Talking, admitting to being wrong, relationships.

Finally there's shifting. Derek steps back and waits. When the door is opened, Stiles stands there looking lost.

"You said-"

"Forget what I said."

Stiles raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms, expectant, but Derek doesn't know what else to say. He's already admitted that. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and stares at Stiles. He has to repress the urge to give him any strange looks. This isn't Stiles' fault.

"I just. I mean. You could've been shot."

Stiles puts his hands up and a horrible look of sarcasm drenches his features so heavily that Derek wants to snarl, turn around and leave. He came here to apologize, but Stiles is making this the hardest thing ever.

"No kidding, Derek? I could've been shot? With those wolfsbane bullets? I can see how that's much more dangerous for me than any of you."

Derek wants to strangle him out of irritation. He came to apologize, not to be antagonized. This is why he doesn't bother apologizing to Stiles. This is exactly why things like you're not pack manifest in his temper and come out at inopportune times when he really just wants Stiles to not be dead.

"Yeah, Stiles, with the wolfsbane bullets, that could've hit you anywhere."

Stiles opens his mouth like he's going to interrupt, but Derek doesn't give him a chance, "You could have bled to death before I would've even gotten to you. Do you get that?" Some of the tension eases as he continues, "You could've died."

Stiles doesn't meet his gaze. He's playing with his fingers, trying to find something to say in response to Derek's words, but he's finding himself, for the second time tonight, completely lost for words. He'd at least managed to say something earlier, but what is he supposed to say to that?

"I wasn't thinking about that." To Derek's credit, as out of his element as he looks now, he still manages one of his looks. It's a combination of 'no shit' and 'you're an idiot', the latter of which Stiles is used to seeing on a regular basis. Just like that it's like the floodgates have opened up, "I figured out who the hunter is- was? Is it was? Did you let- never mind. I figured it out, and I knew he had the bullets, and Isaac- I didn't want him to get shot, because I saw you after you got shot, and you looked terrible. Like, gross."

"Stiles," Derek says, irritation seeping back into his voice, but there's fondness mixed in.

"And you smelled bad too. Really bad. Like roadkill bad. And I didn't want Isaac to die, because that would suck. A lot."

Derek can't help the way the corners of his lips turn up a little. "Stiles." He says again, firmer.

"Huh?"

"Shut up."


End file.
